


Every Inch

by everycoinhastwosides



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little more heart, Comfort, Destiel - Freeform, First Time, Hand Jobs, Handprint, Hugs, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm, POV Second Person, Post Hell, Profound Bond, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 11:50:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everycoinhastwosides/pseuds/everycoinhastwosides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'I know you Dean. I pieced you back together. I know what you like, what you want, what you need.'  Destiel. Slash. One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Inch

**Author's Note:**

> So I promised a story with more heart after my first angst ridden shot at some Destiel. I hope I did some redeeming, after how much I hurt Cas in my other fic. Sorry about that Cas!
> 
> I don't own Supernatural, but if I did, I'd have more money and a reason to get out of bed in the morning.
> 
> Enjoy, and, as always, reviews and feedback are very much appreciated. Like coffee on frosty mornings.

Every Inch

I remember everything perfectly Dean. Your face was an epitome of confusion. I felt explanations slip away from me as I tried to make you see: I have known no other existence other than to help you. Even hundreds of years before you were born, you were part of a larger plan. A huge plan. You said it yourself; it is too much. It's too big. But I have been here to see it through with you, regardless of whether you accept this or not.

I think sometimes you forget that it was I who put you back together after your stint in Hell. I pieced your physical form back together, but it was your soul that I had the hardest trouble with. You did not want to be fixed. When I saw you in Hell's thrall, your soul was shining brighter than anything I had ever seen. You were a beacon, a light to show me the way. Your body was still in the ground, beyond repair, so I made you a new one. Just like your old one, filled it with your soul and it almost seemed a shame to put something wildly beautiful back into flesh.

This is how I know you. I have watched your creation. I have seen everything. You hold no secrets from me Dean. Even though I have stitched you back together with my grace, you never have made things easy for me. You have fought me, tooth and nail, every step of the way. You never wanted to leave Hell; you had already changed so much by that point. You believed yourself to be a monster, but didn't believe me when I told you the truth of how great your soul was. Of the faith that I had in you and how important you were to my Father. You were wild, feral, untamed, but your soul gleamed.

This is why I know you. I know all of you. I have repeated myself to you several times, but it never seems to sink in. You still seemed surprised when I laid my hands upon you.

I know what you like Dean. I made you. I know what you desire, what you want most. I put it all back into you. When I grip your shoulders, your face changes. I know all of your faces Dean and I know you try to hold back how much you like it.

When I kiss you, it is exactly how I expected, physically. Your jaw is extremely masculine and hard set and I can feel it under my hands as your lips remain still. I can feel the confusion radiate from you, like you are not sure of what to do, or my intentions, but I can assure you Dean, I do everything for you. Inside however, I feel something stir from my lingered brushes with humanity.

You kiss back, after your inner conflict with uncertainty. I let my fingers trail down your spine towards the small of your back and your hands find my hair, pulling on it to bring me closer. My vessel responds, pleasure settling in all of the skin I am based in. You press back against me with such hunger that I find myself wondering just how many times you had thought of me outside of this moment. I chastise myself then; I am thinking too much and placing too much importance upon the thought of me in your mind.

I touch you in all of the places I know you like to be touched. There is a small point behind your ear that I run my finger over, feeling your muscles clench as we kiss and I can hear your thoughts, almost asking me how I knew. You never listen Dean. I know all of you. I remade you. You shiver a little when we are unclothed, your hands roaming over my skin. My vessel is responsive to your touch, every hair standing on end as if I am really human. I feel more human than ever in that moment, my skin against yours. But I guess that's just how you make me feel Dean. Sometimes it's, what you call, 'amazing', because I feel things I have never felt before and to experience them is something new, something exciting. Other times you make me feel things that are less desirable. Guilt and sadness for example. You don't realise that I'm feeling anything of course, it is rare that expressions manifest themselves upon my visage, but you still make me feel them, nonetheless.

Your back hits the wall and there is nowhere else for you to go; we're close, I push my knee against you and you flex into me, your lips still kissing mine with a ferocity that I have never felt from you before. Even when you have been with women, I have felt your soul and this is not a familiar feeling. It leaves me soaring on edge; definitely a human condition.

I let my fingernails scrape down your hip and I reach a hand into your boxers, feeling how hard you are already. What can I say? I know what you like. Not that I mind of course, but touching you in this way, feeling the surge of pleasure ripple off you in suffocating waves, it makes my own body react in the same way. I wrap my hand around you and pull slowly, gently. An agonizingly teasing touch that your body responds to by clutching closer to me, my own vessel loving the warmth of your skin. No. _me_ , loving the warmth of your skin.

To make the distinction now is hard. What my vessel wanted and what I wanted were on par with each other and as the moments pass, it is getting harder and harder to separate the two. Although usually, I would not struggle to make the distinction, but one or the other is affecting my mind set and all that I can think is you. Your needs, your wants. You. Dean, I put you first through thick and thin, and now I get to show you how much I really know you.

There had been somewhat of a tension between us for a very long time. Lingering glances in which you mistook my thoughtful stare for attraction. Angels do not really feel attraction... or at least, I didn't. Spending all of my time with you and Sam has made me feel things that are more in tune with what my vessel would feel than me occupying it. However, in time I felt warmth from your slight touches, your fleeting looks and that warmth become something lustful. It wasn't hard to see and after a while, I liked it, possible because I knew how much you liked it. Your feelings are entwined with mine Dean, though you'll never realise how much. That print on your shoulder, the mark that my struggle left on you is proof of our bond. It is brimming with my own grace, which is one reason for our gravitation towards each other.

Your hands feel hot against my face and although I could easily stop you from turning me around so my back is against the wall, I know how much you want this. I carry on stroking your arousal -well, _cock_ , as your television preference so crudely puts it- and my free hand grips your shoulder, moves up into the nape of your neck where the hair is fine and soft and back over the tiny spot behind your ear and I feel your fingers in my pants and then something bursts out of me – a noise – though I can't comprehend what, but it's coupled by a heaving shift of shock waves that engulf me and I know that it's most likely the vessel, Jimmy's skin, but I can't hold back.

In a hurried rush that I don't complain at, I take off our pants, yes, both of them, and sink to my knees, knowing that you like this _a lot_ and that contrary to popular belief, you don't usually get this so much. I take you in my hands, throbbing, flushed and leaking and stroke you slowly before running the length of my tongue from the base to the tip, sucking the head into my mouth and feeling pleased at the appreciative moan that fills the air. Securing the base in one hand, I push further, tasting salt and you.

Your soul is burning bright, almost like it could explode at any moment. I bob my head back and forth faster and you match me, push for push. I take a chance to look up at you and your eyes are already open, already looking at me with a mixture of emotions, but mostly pleasure, for which I am glad. Your right hand comes down and your fingers weave their way into my hair, and although the touch isn't painful, my spine tingles and I breathe heavy down your erection.

Your soul pulses, you eyes close. The air runs thick with your voice and a second later, I am drinking you like I've never been so thirsty before. For something so sinful, it tastes pure. Brilliant white light erupts from your soul and you drag me to my feet, forcing a kiss that I know you can't be too pleased about. You taste yourself in my mouth and I can only imagine that you have done this in order to stop me from saying anything. You think I am going to say anything? Dean, you're so wrong. I want to savour this moment.

 _Moment over_. You kiss harder and my back arches against the wall as you dip your hand back to my own arousal and wrap a firm, calloused hand around it and I make that gasping noise again, unable to control what comes out of my mouth. Your eyes never leave me, unless your lips are frantically kissing me, and I have never before felt so open. I feel exposed and although as a soldier, every instinct is telling me to get out of there and to feel stable again, I like this feeling. Maybe it is because I trust you Dean. I have never trusted anyone like this before. I rebel for you, I disobey orders, unless they're your orders. I can feel myself becoming much closer to you and your brother than I ever was to my own Garrison. Right now, I can't think about whether that's a good thing or not.

I can feel something building up inside of me, something that I cannot deny and I raise my hands to clutch at you, accidentally pressing a hand to my own hand print etched into your skin and I feel you.

Every inch, in my skin. Who you are and who I built, the purity of you, the rebellion you cause, the pace you've so conveniently picked up in a rush and I cry out, pulling you so tightly, I sense your surprise.

“Let go, Cas. I got you.”

And just like every order you have given before, I follow you.

The light that burns into the back of my eyes is brilliant and deafening, a light that hits every sense I have. A cry escapes my lips and my back arches, my body unresponsive to my own commands. Every inch of me spasms, shaking and twitching without my consent and I am clinging to you as though you are everything. You _are_ everything. There's a ringing in my ears like a thousand heavens singing and I can't stop quaking. It's something beautiful, something disintegrating into thousands of sparks that fly around both my grace and my skin. I cannot let you go, my hands holding on so tightly they hurt, but I still cannot let you go.

Because if I do, I know it will be over. I know that things will be different between us and I don't want them to be. You've opened me up, I've tried to show you how much you mean to me, and I can't go back to the way it was before. I just _can't_. I don't want to. The minute you let go of me, this everlasting moment ends and the desperation is gushing from me, from every pore, screaming silently for you to stay. _Don't let go, don't let go, don't let go_.

As my uprising and alien fear almost consumes me, you surprise me yet again. I know all of you, inside and out, but there are tiny slivers of you that I always underestimate, or misjudge. Instead of this moment being over, you fold me inside your arms, hot skin pressing together and slowly, I go to move my hand from the print on your shoulder, but your hand clasps around my wrist, keeping our bond firm. Rushing emotions that I should not be feeling flush through me, draining me and I feel exhausted. Human.

We stand there for what seems like forever and I enjoy the feeling of being tucked away in your arms. I can feel your chest moving with every breath Dean, your heart slowing down to its normal rhythm. My vessel is slightly smaller than your body, but it is strangely satisfying to keep my face nuzzled in the crook of your neck where your lean shoulder meets the soft skin of your throat. Your hand is buried in my hair, and it feels nice; soothing. I like the sensation. It feels safe. Warm. You feel like home, Dean. You remind me of everything I have in my heaven. Even if Father was gone, I still had faith in you. You are the righteous man Dean. You are the one who keeps himself strong, true. I had thought all this time that I was protecting you, but never thought about how much I have needed you. All these things you have shown me. These feelings that some might think of as weaknesses; I think of them as strengths because they allow me to be closer to _you_.

When this moment ends, I feel cold without you. But the look in your eyes says something different. It is a look that doesn't push me away like I had half expected, but rather, welcomes the sight of me. It is a look that says, _I need you_. As much as I need you? Not so much, but a little need can sometimes be a lot greater than no need at all. 

Now those lingering stares mean everything. What was once nothing is now something. 

 

This is how I know you Dean. Inside and out.

 

Every inch. 

 

 


End file.
